Globes & Maps
by 0Atwood0
Summary: And when Summer starts doubling her dosage of valium, Ryan prays for the first time. He hopes and he prays that God is up there with Marissa, because he sure as hell is no where down here.


**Disclaimer:** I _wish_ I owned _The O.C._ Maybe not anymore, seeing as the ratings are horrible. But ownage of Ben McKenzie would be nice.

**A/N:** So I promised myself that I wasn't going to write about Marissa's death because I was thoroughly convinced that everything happening in the last five minutes of the finale could not possibly exist. But an opportunity like this won't be presented again. Not one that has this big of an impact. So, I wrote. And hopefully you will like it, or at least find some deeper meaning to it.

* * *

Ryan clenches and unclenches his fists as he sits in the waiting room. Clawing. Grappling at the air. 

And he tries to feel Marissa between his fingertips.

Feel her against him.

Feel her breathing.

But he keeps coming up empty-handed. And he's trying hard. So very hard, to pretend that none of this is actually happening.

------------

When everybody barges into the hospital, and the news is broken, still he sits. Digging his nails into the palms of his hands.

Julie cries.

And Summer screams.

And Seth is silent.

And right now, the best Ryan can do is quite obviously not enough for anyone. But he's not sure he can be enough for himself anymore. And that's what's worrying him more than anything.

------------

Ryan rubs his hands together at the funereal, creating little spots of friction on his palms. And he thinks that maybe if he tries hard enough, he can make enough heat to press against the cedar box sitting in front of him.

To press against Marissa.

That way she wouldn't have to be so cold all the time.

He thinks that he should say something. _Anything_. He knows that she deserves a few of his words, so he makes his way up to the podium.

He wraps his hands around the edges, digging his nails into the wood and tries so desperately to make room in his head for a few words to squeeze through.

But there's no space left really. He's been filled with guilt and regret and selfishness. And his own voice is echoing in his head.

_She's dead. Shesdead. She's in a hole in the ground and it's allyourfuckingfault._

And he looks over at Julie and wants to tell her that he didn't mean to kill her daughter. Wants to tell her that he was going to try and convince her to stay once they reached the airport.

_Too little too late._

But he can't seem to formulate the right words.

The ones that that would make her feel better.

So instead he clenches his hands tighter around the wood and mutters breathless '_I'm sorrys_' until Sandy manages to somehow pry him away form the microphone.

When Ryan takes his place as pallbearer, the cedar box makes a permanent depression in his shoulder.

Even though he thinks the box feels lighter than it probably should.

And all he wants to think about is how Marissa smells like summertime and vanilla. And how she always wears strawberry lip gloss because she knows that it's his favorite.

And he wants to close his eyes and see her smile.

But he can't.

Because his memory is muddled with smokey ashes and dark red blood.

------------

Ryan spends his days in darkness.

Huddling under blankets.

With just him and his thoughts.

Seth visits him every once in a while and tries to get him to come out for dinner, but Ryan refuses and buries himself further away from the world.

Summer stops by once a day. She cries and screams and begs for Marissa to come back.

And when Summer starts doubling her dosage of valium, Ryan prays for the first time.

He hopes and he prays that God is up there with Marissa, because he sure as hell is no where down here.

-----------

One morning, Julie finds him fast asleep, sprawled out in front of Marissa's grave.

She nudges him awake and sits with him for a while, their backs pressed up against the gray stone that is somehow deteriorating every aspect of their lives.

She asks him if he would help her clean out Marissa's closet, and he is surprised.

But he thinks that it is the least he can do for her, so he nods his head and she rests hers against his shoulder.

------------

Julie waves Ryan up to Marissa's old room and informs him that she just needs to grab some boxes from the garage.

He cautiously pads through the room that she once occupied.

The room that Kaitlin refuses to set foot in.

Ryan opens the closet door and steps in.

And it smells like summertime and vanilla and strawberry lip gloss and Marissa.

So he sits down between the boxes of her shoes, tucking his knees up to his chest.

And he closes his eyes.

And he swears he can feel her in here with him.

Reopening his eyes, they're clouded by a liquidy film just enough so he can't really see straight.

And for a moment he is utterly confused, because he sees Marissa standing in front of him. But when he blinks, clearing his vision, he realizes that it is not Marissa, but instead, Kaitlin.

Wordlessly she sits down next to him and places her head on his shoulder.

And the tears begin to trail down her face and drip onto his shirt. And he can remember a time not so long ago when her sister used to do the same thing.

So he pinches the bridge of his nose as the burning in his eyes intensifies.

But his efforts fail him as a strangled sob somehow manages to escape from his mouth.

And he presses the heels of his hands into his lips, covering his face with his fingers.

But Ryan is crumbling.

So when Kaitlin grabs one of his hands in hers, he is unable to muffle the hysterical sobs that are wracking his body.

When Julie walks into the closet and sees them, she drops the boxes she is carrying and walks straight out.

Straight out of the house.

Straight out of town.

For a good two weeks.

And Ryan knows that it is his fault again.

But Kaitlin lets him sleep on the floor of Marissa's closet. And he buries himself in a fleece blanket that he has found tucked away in a back corner.

And he clenches his hands around the edge of the sheet.

Because he's trying, so very hard, to hold onto everything that he possibly can.

* * *

_fin_

Reviews are greatly appreciated.


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